


Healing Takes Time

by FromTheMountains



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-12
Updated: 2015-07-12
Packaged: 2018-04-08 22:10:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4322646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FromTheMountains/pseuds/FromTheMountains
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alternate Universe, just shy of being a missing scene, between the cafe and kebab shop in Season 3's: "The Empty Hearse".</p>
            </blockquote>





	Healing Takes Time

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was inspired by a comment someone made online, regarding the extensive nature of Sherlock's injuries and the fact that they would not have been healed by the time John was attacking him. I think John's acting abilities was mentioned somewhere too. So credit for the idea goes to that/those random fan(s). :) The rest is just my brain wandering off with it and enjoying the symmetry between Sherlock's physical injuries and John's emotional injuries. Figured it's as good a first Sherlock fanfic as any. Gentle Brit picks are welcome. However, I'm short on time these days and so I'm not sure if I'd actually get around to fixing them. You've been warned, lol. Enjoy!

Healing Takes Time

by: FromTheMountains

 

SMALL CAFE'

“Okay,” said John glancing at Mary and then back to Sherlock “So just your brother, Molly Hooper, and a hundred tramps.” he finished sarcastically. 

Sherlock looked affronted “No!” He thought about it briefly, “Twenty-five at the most.” 

That was enough to send John hurtling across the table at Sherlock again. Grasping the lapels of Sherlock's coat, he couldn't think of anything except throttling some sense into his friend. Sherlock, twisted trying to get away and they both crashed sideways onto the floor. Sherlock gave an involuntary cry of pain as he landed solidly on the mass of bruises that still stretched across his abdomen and rib cage. Hearing this, Mary looked at him confused, and immediately rushed between the two of them. John got up a little slower than he had at the restaurant, which gave the owner of the cafe time to come around the corner and order them to leave, in no uncertain terms.

They walked a little ways outside, but not far. Sherlock had fallen behind and his breathing was labored. When John noticed this he stopped, casting an irritated look of concern over his shoulder. He glanced to Mary who was standing at his side, she motioned for him to check Sherlock. He stood there, wrestling with himself for several seconds, as Sherlock caught up to them. 

“Let's have a look at you,” he finally growled and moved to push Sherlock's coat to the side. 

“I'm fine,” snapped Sherlock, irritably trying to push his hand away. 

John's movements suddenly took on a hurried earnestness. Sherlock was only this irritable when he was seriously hurt...or at least hurt enough that any sane person would go to the hospital. He lightly ran his fingers over Sherlock's rib cage checking for fractures. Sherlock stiffened in pain, but didn't say anything. 

“You need a doctor,” said John absently 

“Wonder where I'm going to find one of those,” wheezed Sherlock, with just a ghost of a grin. 

“I'm serious Sherlock, I think one of your ribs may be fractured.” said John

“It's just bruised,” muttered Sherlock taking a steadying breath.

“You can't know that, not until you've had an x-ray,” said John sternly. “I'm taking you to the hospital.” 

“I've had an x-ray, it's just bruised,” said Sherlock “John, I can't go to the hospital. My still being alive is a secret for now. It needs to stay that way, there's an imminent terrorist attack that's targeting London and I need your help.” 

“Sherlock,” said John purposefully ignoring the second half of that statement “It's not just your ribs, you walk like someone who's been beaten to a pulp and I know our little wrestling matches didn't do that. So. What. Happened?” He glared at Sherlock. 

“I got beaten to a pulp,” said Sherlock shrugging. Not finding the answer satisfactory, John reached over, ignoring Sherlock's protests, and tugged up a section of the white shirt to reveal a mass of purpling bruise marks underneath. 

“Jesus Sherlock,” he breathed. 

“Yes, thank you John,” said Sherlock tugging his shirt back down and folding his coat over it “Nothing like the London chill to make breathing easier,” 

“Did it ever occur to you, that if I had been there, I could have helped you?” said John, worry starting to replace some of his earlier anger. Whatever Sherlock had been doing, it had been dangerous. 

“John, you did help me,” said Sherlock seriously “The only way I was able to infiltrate Moriarty's network was because they, watching you, believed I was dead.” 

“You used me,” said John getting angry again. “You could tell Molly, but you couldn't tell me...” 

“No, I couldn't tell you,” said Sherlock, starting to get annoyed. “I had no idea how long it would take me to break the network. One wrong move by you, one slip up...and we'd both be dead. Mycroft may have arrested the first assassin after you, but there were plenty more to take his place.”

“You didn't think I could do it,” said John flatly. 

“If you could pretend to grieve for 2yrs without a single mistake, then you wouldn't need a flatmate, because you'd be making millions a year as a world famous actor!” said Sherlock in exasperation.

“He's right you know,” said Mary quietly.

“Who's side are you on?!” asked John incredulously. 

“The side that doesn't want you dead,” she said pointedly “What side are you on?” 

John fumed silently for a moment and then turned and started walking. Sherlock and Mary glanced at each other and then followed him. He lead them over to a small kebab shop and went inside without a word. They followed him.

Sherlock's brain was going a mile a minute trying to find a safe conversation starter, deductions? No. Cases? Probably not. Maybe something mudane, even...funny? Ah, there it was! 

“Seriously, it's not a joke,” he gestured to John's upper lip “You're...you're really keeping this?” 

“Yeah,” replied John.

“You're sure?” said Sherlock. So far so good, he thought.

“Mary likes it,” said John staunchly. 

“Mmmm, no she doesn't,” replied Sherlock carefully, eager to avoid any further issues that night. 

“She does,” said John.

“She doesn't,” said Sherlock abandoning his earlier tact. There was no winning this one.

John looked over at Mary who was clearly trying to come up with a soothing white lie, and failing. Giving up she said “I'm sorry. Oh, I'm sorry...I didn't know how to tell you.” 

“No, no this is charming!” said John sarcastically “I've really missed *this*.” He had, of course, missed it terribly. But pride demanded some kind of response. Naturally, this didn't fool Sherlock. 

“You *have* missed this. Admit it,” said Sherlock moving towards him and starting to grin “The thrill of the chase, the blood pumping through your veins, just the two of us against the rest of the world...” 

At this, John grabbed Sherlock's lapels and reared his head back. 

“Sorry,” muttered Sherlock, suddenly realizing that his last statement hadn't quite had the result he intended. 

John didn't stop.

The next thing Sherlock knew, he was standing outside the kebab shop with his head tilted back trying to stop a bloody nose. 

“I don't understand,” he said to Mary who was standing next to him. And he truly didn't, John obviously missed their cases together, very much. But when he'd mentioned it, he'd been attacked. 

“I said I'm sorry...isn't that what you're supposed to do?” asked Sherlock. He had tried that too, with no luck. Humans were confounding sometimes. 

“Gosh, you don't know anything about human nature, do you?” asked Mary, slightly incredulous and yet warmly.

“Mm...nature? No. Human?” Sherlock looked at her with a sad and rueful smile tugging the corner of his mouth “...No.”

“I'll talk him round,” she said with calm assurance. 

“You will?” said Sherlock, surprised at her confidence, and doubly surprised at her willingness. In his experience, John's girlfriends didn't care for him and any one of them would've taken this very enticing opportunity to be shot of him. 

“Oh, yeah,” said Mary smiling confidently. 

This one was different. Sherlock stopped and studied her, the deductions flew fast and thick. She smiled at him. 

“Mary,” called John from a dozen or so feet away, as the taxi pulled up. 

Still smiling, Mary turned and left. 

Sherlock watched quietly from the sidewalk as they climbed into the taxi and drove away. He highly doubted Mary would be able to do anything. John seemed thoroughly done with him. It happened to everyone he knew, eventually, he shouldn't have been surprised. 

But... 

He stopped that train of thought. There was still a terrorist attack to stop, and regardless of the loss of his blogger, he still had a case. 

He always had his cases.

He hailed a cab. With the terrorist attack, there were still a few people who needed to know he was alive. One of them, at least, would probably be glad to see him. 

Probably.

 

ST. BART'S HOSPITAL

Molly Hooper headed to her locker at the end of her shift. She unlocked it and swung the door open, her mirror inside caught a tall dark figure standing against the far wall, there was just the barest touch of a smile on his face. Whirling around, Molly faced Sherlock, her own features breaking into a grin. 

He was back.


End file.
